by Andrew Grey
“We’re damn near forty. We need to do all that crap and more. Have you looked in the mirror lately? Neither of us is fat, but we’re spreading nonetheless. Our asses are wider and our legs thicker. We can’t wear those skinny jeans we used to pour ourselves into when we were young. So now we have to show off the goods and remind the boys that with a little time comes a whole lot of experience.”
Blaze always looked good, and Thomas had never noticed any spreading where his friend was concerned.
Thomas finished dressing and came out. “How is this, your highness?” He smirked.
“Good God. We’re going out for the evening, to a club, not to a cotillion.” Blaze brushed past him and went right to Thomas’s closet. “Put this on, and those jeans look like you got them at Old Farts R Us.” He dug through and tossed a pair of black jeans on the bed. “Put those on. Black is slimming.”
“But that shirt is too small.”
“Perfect. It should be tight to show off your arms.” Blaze stepped out of the room, and Thomas wondered if this was worth it.
He changed clothes again. The jeans hugged his hips and waist so tightly that they were a second skin, and the shirt stretched over his chest. When he looked in the full-length mirror, he had to admit that he looked pretty good.
“All right. Let’s go,” Thomas said, emerging from the bedroom. Blaze nodded and turned toward the door. Thomas got his wallet and keys, followed Blaze out, and locked the apartment door. After taking the elevator down to the first floor, they were greeted by the doorman and then stepped out into the Upper West Side night air.
“I can’t believe you’re giving all this up,” Blaze said as he hailed a cab. “What kind of place are you going to have in Colorado Springs?”
Thomas shrugged. “I don’t know yet. I haven’t bought a house. I figured I’d rent a place for a while and then move when I found somewhere I really liked.” He wasn’t dumb enough to buy anything sight unseen.
“You’re moving pretty quickly with this whole thing.” Blaze looked up and down the street, and they walked the block or so toward Fifth.
“Collin called a few weeks ago, and he said Mom and Dad were having a tougher time of it. They would never say anything, but mom’s rheumatism is making it harder for her to get around, and Dad is having to do more and more for her. Collin helps, but he works strange hours at the restaurant, and, well….” Thomas shrugged. “I’m nearly forty and I’m tired.” He stepped around a pile of dog leavings, wishing the offending owner had been given a huge ticket. “I’ve been working night and day to get this business started and then to make it successful. Now I want the chance to spend some time with my mom and dad before it’s too late.”
Blaze reached the corner, whistling shrilly for a cab. “The last thing I would ever think of is moving home to see my parents. God, I’d rather lose a leg than spend an hour back in Georgia with my father. The man is a fanatic. He turned his back on me as soon as he thought I might be gay.” When a cab pulled to the curb, Blaze pulled open the back door to climb in, and Thomas got in as well. He should have called his limousine service and arranged a ride. That was, if Blaze had given him any kind of notice at all, like a normal person.
“The Brick,” Blaze told the driver, who nodded, taking off.
“You really want to go there?” That gay club had been around for decades.
“It’s been completely remodeled and is trendy again. Guys are done with that techno shit and want some good, clean… well, maybe more like hot and dirty action. This is the place where all the hot guys are right now.” And Blaze would know. His gift was to keep up with what was gay, hot, and where his money could get him anything he wanted.
Thomas turned to Blaze. “Have you ever given any thought to settling down?”
Blaze’s eyes burned in the semidarkness and flashing lights as the blocks passed. “Yeah, I did the whole relationship thing. Remember Mathias? He was….” Blaze seemed at a loss for words. “You know how well that all worked out.” He shook his head. “I’m way better off without all those awful entanglements that only leave you wishing to hell that you hadn’t let him in your heart… or your apartment.” Blaze swore under his breath. “The bastard stole me blind, and I needed a course of penicillin to fully eradicate him. So, no, I haven’t thought about settling down any time soon. I’ll cruise the boys until I’m too ugly and old. And then just hire them.”
Thomas knew the whole story about Mathias, but he hadn’t fully realized how deeply the little shit had hurt Blaze. Which pissed Thomas off, because he should have been paying closer attention. He thought about trying to find Mathias just so he could teach the stupid piece of crap a lesson about messing with people. “You can’t let one asshole dictate your outlook like that.”
They pulled into Midtown, and Blaze turned toward the window. “Bullshit. I’ve been out with other guys, and things always end the same damn way.” He didn’t even look at Thomas as he spoke, but Thomas could hear the pain in his voice. “I have good friends that I can trust, and I go to clubs or bars when I want someone to warm my bed for a night.” He finally shifted to look at Thomas again. “I always thought you felt the same way. I mean, you never dated anyone, not seriously.”
“I never dated anyone… well, with the exception of Angus.” Thomas rolled his eyes. The few times he had gone out with a guy more than once, something at work would come up and he’d end up cutting the date short or canceling. The guys got the message pretty quickly that his job came first and they were going to be a distant second. There were never any third dates—except for Angus, and that had turned into a total disaster… for both of them. “Not really.”
“See, I figured you got hurt by some shithead and never told me.”
“Nope. Just never had time.” Thomas turned, looking out the window as the neighborhood changed from apartment buildings to clubs and businesses.
“Do you want a social life?” Blaze asked as the cab pulled over.
Thomas opened the door, thankful to be able to evade the question. He paid the driver and joined Blaze as the cab sped away from the curb.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Thomas gazed at the line of guys waiting to get into the club. This was a bad idea. It was going to take hours for them to get inside, and the last thing he wanted to be doing was waiting in a fucking line on a Friday night. “I think I might. I don’t know.” He knew he was getting tired of spending his days at the office and his nights doing more work. “There has to be more to life than just this.” He waved a hand in front of him, not really referring to the club, but things in general.
“No need to worry, my friend.” Blaze walked up to the doorman, spoke to him for a few seconds, and then motioned. The velvet rope lifted out of their way, and they were inside, just like that.
Thomas didn’t have time to think about it. Instantly he was surrounded by the throbbing beat of the music and the crush of men, many of them shirtless, ripped chests and bellies covered in a glistening sheen of sweat—beauty and sex on display everywhere he looked.
“Where do you want to start?” Blaze asked as a man sauntered right up to him. He was shorter—a pocket powerhouse, judging by all the muscles. He stood on his tiptoes and whispered something to Blaze before sliding his arm around Blaze’s waist. Blaze smiled and made his way to the bar, while Thomas looked around once again, feeling like a junior high kid left standing by the wall while all the others danced.
Thomas, as the head of a very successful company built from the ground up, should be able to go out there and talk to guys. There wasn’t anything to it. He talked to people all day long with no problem whatsoever. But right now, all the guys were gorgeous, tanned, toned… hot.
“Go on out there and meet people,” Blaze said, pressing a beer glass into his hand before downing his shot and turning away with short-and-studly. They made their way to the dance floor, where Blaze smoothly took the other man in his arms and they burned it up. Even Thomas could se
e they were hot together, and he had been told on multiple occasions that he was pretty clueless about things like that. His own dance moves lay somewhere between a dying chicken and a scarecrow.
Thomas slowly approached the bar and found an empty place to watch what was happening. He finished his beer and ordered another one.
“Hey,” said a man, about thirty, with jet-black hair and piercing eyes, as he leaned over the bar, glancing at Thomas.
“Hello,” Thomas said, giving him his best smile. Why was he so nervous? Thomas quickly searched for something to say that didn’t sound like a line. “Would you like a drink?”
“That would be nice, thanks.” The guy settled next to him, smiling as Thomas got the bartender’s attention and ordered a martini. “I’ve never been here before.” He turned back to the dance floor, and Thomas followed his gaze. “I had no idea there would be so many older guys trolling for young dudes.” The martini arrived, and then the guy was gone.
Thomas shook his head and paid for the drink. Being shot down before he even took a chance was one thing, but the guy being rude was dispiriting. If men were like that, Thomas didn’t understand why anyone bothered at all.
He turned in his seat to watch as Blaze and Studly melded themselves together, dancing, or fucking standing up—it was hard to tell which. He ordered another drink and waited to see if there was anyone to try to talk with.
Thomas quickly realized this whole thing was a mistake. It only helped to drive the point home that he needed a change. Thomas threaded through the crowd to Blaze, explained that he was going home, and told him to have fun. Then he weaved out through the crush of bodies and into the night air. This time he called his car service, requested a limo, and waited, watching the boys in line. When the car pulled up, he got inside, ignoring the looks of curiosity, and rode home.
It was definitely time to get out of New York.
Chapter 2
BRANDON COULDN’T believe his grandmother had interfered… again.
“I didn’t get you the job.” She patted his cheek. “I only got you the address for where to send your résumé and stuff.” She handed him the paper with the email address. “Grace Stepford said her son is coming back to town and will need to get an assistant. He’s a bigwig from New York and really busy.”
“I don’t need to take an assistant job,” he protested.
“You need to work, and he has plenty of contacts. So, if he likes you, that will be a boost up.”
She had a point. He’d been looking for work for months, even before he graduated with his MBA, and he’d found nothing.
“I know.” He hated to admit that she was right. Brandon sighed. “I’ll go send it right now.” He went into his room and opened his laptop. It didn’t take him long to compose a nice email and attach his résumé. He was getting very good at this sort of thing.
“Bran,” his grandma called right after he sent the message. “I have lunch ready.”
He bounded out and sat at the table. His grandma was doing okay, but sometimes she needed some help. After graduating from Colorado State, he hadn’t intended to return to Colorado Springs, but with the job situation the way it was right now, especially for new graduates, he didn’t have a choice. “Which Stepford did I just apply to assist, exactly?” He probably should have asked before he sent the résumé.
“Thomas Stepford. Do you remember him? I think you used to mow his lawn before he left town and made it big.” She set a plate with a sandwich on it in front of him and took the chair next to him at the old Formica-topped table. Nothing ever changed for his grandma. This table had been in this kitchen for as long as Brandon could remember. “He was always a very nice young man. Intense, though.”
“I remember,” Brandon said.
Boy, did he ever remember Thomas Stepford. Mr. Stepford, as he’d referred to him then, had started some sort of business and was really busy. Brandon had seen that he was home and screwed up his courage to go over and see if he wanted his lawn mowed. The grass was getting tall, and Brandon figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask. He’d rung the bell and the door opened. Mr. Stepford was in just a pair of workout jeans, and Brandon remembered doing his best not to stare at the hotness in front of him.
Somehow he managed to get his little speech out and ask for the job. Mr. Stepford had smiled, which only made him hotter, and said he’d pay him twenty bucks a time to mow and edge the yard. He also said he’d pay him fifteen bucks an hour if he’d weed the front beds and trim the bushes. That was good money—like, really good money—and Brandon had quickly agreed and gotten to work once Mr. Stepford closed the door, cutting off the view that made Brandon salivate and provided late-night fantasy material for the rest of his teenage years.
Every time Brandon went to be paid, he hoped there would be a repeat of the view he’d gotten that first day, but no such luck. Well, once he’d walked over and found Mr. Stepford in the backyard, lying in a lawn chair, reading some papers. He was in a pair of shorts and a tank top that showed off his arms. But that was as close as he ever got to the view of heaven he’d received that first day.
“Brandon. Are you there?” his grandma teased, her voice pulling him out of his woolgathering.
“Yeah, sure.” He took a bite of his sandwich. “I thought I’d take care of the yard this afternoon and do some cleaning up in the front.” His grandma couldn’t do that sort of thing anymore, and it needed to be done. Of course he’d help. She had been kind enough to let him stay with her so he wouldn’t have to live with his mother and that jerk she’d married after the divorce. God, his mother had complained about his dad endlessly, but then married a jerk of epic proportions.
“I appreciate it.” She patted his hand with her wrinkled one.
His grandparents had always been so easy to love. Their home had been a place of stability when his mom and dad were fighting, which they had done a lot, mostly about money. Which was totally ironic. Mom always thought that his dad was cheap. So in the end, she left him and married a man who pinched his pennies so hard, he could make Abe Lincoln scream.
“It’s no problem.” He finished his sandwich, took what was left of his iced tea out to the garage with him, and started the lawn mower.
He got the front and back yards mowed and began working on the front beds. They were pretty infested, but he got the weeds under control and trimmed the shrubs. After a good three hours’ work, the front of the house looked much better. Brandon decided he’d buy some flowers to plant the next time he went out. Grandma loved flowers and they would make her happy.
Done for the day, he put everything away and went inside to clean up. He checked his email, and to his complete shock, found a response sent just half an hour earlier.
Mr. Wilson,
Thank you for your résumé. I’m Mr. Stepford’s New York assistant, and we were impressed by your qualifications. Please call me at your earliest convenience so we can set up a time to speak with you.
Marjorie Westfield
She’d included a phone number, and Brandon debated whether he should call right away He didn’t want to seem desperate, but he needed to get some sort of job so he could help out Grandma and stop sponging off her. He decided to take a shower, and once he was clean, he checked the time and made the call.
“Thomas Stepford’s office,” a cheerful but professional woman said as she answered the phone. “This is Marjorie.”
He cleared his throat. “I’m Brandon Wilson, and I received your email and….”
“Oh, excellent,” she said happily. “You are prompt. I like that. Your résumé was forwarded by HR because of your interest in being Mr. Stepford’s assistant and because you’re in Colorado Springs. Mr. Stepford is relocating there for the time being. He will need an assistant, and your résumé is quite impressive with your entrepreneurial efforts.”
“What sort of duties will there be?” Brandon asked.
“He’ll need you to run errands and work with me to maintain his calendar. I will
keep his master calendar for him, but he’ll need someone there to make sure he has what he needs. You’ll be working directly with Mr. Stepford, but for me.”
“I see,” Brandon said.
“I doubt it.” She chuckled. “I’ve been Mr. Stepford’s assistant for ten years now, and he’s a very busy man. He’s hoping to be able to have more time with his parents, and to do that, he’ll need someone who can assist him there. I’ll take care of the corporate and business appointments, and you’ll handle mostly personal errands and helping to make sure he stays on schedule.”
She seemed nice enough from what he’d heard, and definitely businesslike. Which was very good. He could deal with professional people. “So I’ll be sort of the assistant to the assistant?”
“No. More like his second assistant. You’ll be working directly with him more than I will, but we’ll need to coordinate things so everything runs smoothly and he isn’t double-booked or run ragged.” She paused. “Mr. Stepford has worked hard for many years to get where he is. That has also meant that he works long hours at a very fast pace. I believe he’s hoping to be able to slow that pace when he’s there. He deserves it if anyone does. It will be his assistant’s job—our job, if things work out—to make sure that happens.”
“I can definitely do that.” Brandon smiled. “So what sort of questions do you have for me?”
They spent the next hour talking, and Brandon answered all the questions Marjorie fired at him. They spoke about his schooling, previous employment, and his hopes for the future. Then she asked where he saw himself in five years.
“Not as someone’s assistant,” Brandon answered, and realized that might be insulting to Marjorie, but she chuckled.
“Good answer. We all need to have bigger goals. You’re just out of college. I’m sure you didn’t get an MBA to be an assistant. If it were your life’s ambition, I’d wonder.” She seemed to have a great attitude, and Brandon thought he would like working with her, though he had to remind himself that he didn’t have the job yet.